“No,” he said; “I didn’t. I didn’t go to the rock.”
“But I don’t understand,” I said, as he remained silent for some moments. The old man leaned forward, and laid a trembling, fever-scorched hand on mine.
“Ronald,” he said, in a voice that shook with genuine horror, and sent a cold shiver down my spine, “I did not go to the rock. The rock came to me.”
CHAPTER V
IS MORE MYSTERIOUS.
I sat and stared at the old man in astonishment. Obviously he was fully convinced that he was giving me an accurate account of what had happened, and equally obviously he was perfectly sane.
“That is all,” he said presently. “The rock came to me.”
“Good heavens!” I exclaimed, suddenly brought to my senses by the sound of his voice. “What an extraordinary thing!”